


Good Morning

by HardingHightown



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, PWP, lazy morning sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 18:02:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4401827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardingHightown/pseuds/HardingHightown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blackwall and Cadash have a relaxed morning. PWP fluffy porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Morning

He woke early, every morning. She’d realised that quite soon in their relationship. He’d wake early and stayed still next to her, breathing shallow. He’d wait until her eyes fluttered open, for her to focus and take him in. He was savouring the feeling of being next to somebody in the morning, just as she enjoyed the surprise of strong arms around her as she came to.

Today his warmth is even more welcome.

The Emprise is a frozen land at the best of times, but the snow had fallen fresh in the night leaving piles outside the canvas. The winds howled and she realised how much she hated being away from the city. She felt sick for the comfort of strong walls, of flickering candles and a roaring fire, the murmur of other people in other rooms. In the past she had woken to the strange sounds of nature, the stale air in her tent, and felt ill at ease. At least she now has him, her warrior. All warm and solid, muscles gently flexing underneath her body as she wraps her arm around him tighter, kissing along his jaw.

He stretches out beneath her, relishing the feel of her soft lips against his beard, closing his eyes just for a moment to enjoy the sensation of her attentions. Then, turning his head to her and opening his eyes slightly, he kisses her, his tongue softly on her bottom lip, sucking at it softly, loving how the pale flesh turns a deeper pink, how her eyes seem to lose focus as she looks up at him, before she kisses him back with a hunger.

It takes him a moment to realise that her upper arm is flexing, small movements joined with small noises from the back of her throat. He kisses the sounds as they reach her lips, gently running his fingers along her side as he watches her touch herself.

The beautiful thing about this is that they can kiss, properly, without strain. There’s no reaching, no shifting, just this place where they meet. The contact is purely in their eyes, their lips, the feel of their breath on each other and it is intimate. It carries away any strain, any worry. They’re young again from it.

He watches for a little longer, then rolls to his side. He places his hand over her abdomen, thick fingers spread over her small body. He asks for permission without words. She moves her hands away, letting both fall above her head as she extends, open bodied, her eyes still fixed on his. He runs his fingers over the deep scar that runs from her rib cage to her hip. The vulnerability of it steals his breath away.

He always forgets how  _loud_ she is. Here at dawn, with the thin canvas all that separates them from the first beats of movement outside, she doesn’t dampen those soft whines and desperate gasps. Out there she is hard, her voice low and full of command, but in this she is so very soft. He’s had loud women before of course. His past is littered with moans and screams, but here it is something special. She is genuine above all other things. She has no reason to put on a show. She does not seek to perform for him. Every gasp, every moan is earned.

He hears Bull laughing outside, but pays no attention.

His hand moves faster as the noises come louder. He wants to take time but he knows they have so little here. The camp will want to move soon, the day will have to start, so he pushes her, moving as fast as he dares, crushing her mouth against his to stifle some of the sound as she tenses, her body lifting off the ground, her legs trapping his hand and twitching as he keeps moving, just a little more, over the too sensitive flesh.

He licks the taste of her from his fingers.

When she turns her attention to him, she wraps her right hand deep in his hair, pulling slightly as he stretches on to his back. She reaches down to take him in hand, but he catches her arm, pulling her back up to his face. He wants this. He wants the intimacy of her next to him. She is, just this once, happy to oblige.

Her kisses aren’t soft, aren’t coy. She bites at his lip, licks over the bruises. She breathes on the blooded flesh, the hand in his hair tugging his head back. She licks the length of his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin. But it is not that which has his hand moving over his cock and this speed. It’s the closeness of her. It’s the intimacy of this. It’s the feel of her tongue on his tongue, the sensation of a hand resting over his hard-beating heart. It’s the way his small soft grunts are met with sounds of her own, sounds of approval and encouragement that make him feel so safe. So cared for. So loved.

He spends over his chest with barely a noise, everything choked back in his throat as he strokes himself through it, eyes wide and locked on hers as she kisses at his nose. Finally he exhales, gasping air back in, inhaling the scent of them both.

Outside, there is a murmur, followed by half a dozen voices laughing. She smiles at him. He smiles back.

_Another moment,_ she tells herself.  _Then they can have me. But for this moment, I am his alone._


End file.
